Cricket. Cricket. Cricket.

That for me is the sound of silence. The sound of crickets. Especially in winter. And on my blog for the last many months.
We face a rainstorm today - up north it is another foot of snow. Much has changed in my life of late - most notably my acceptance to the MFA in Visual Arts program at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. It is a low-residency program so no need to sell house/give up job. (Phew!) So I return to reading Roland Barthes and my other art/lit crit friends. Oh - and buying boots and a good winter hat. Brr. At least I love to ski!

Censored!

According to Webster's 10th edition, in 1882 the use of the term censor added to its meanings as Roman census counter, moral supervisor, and superego, the verb tense censor meaning, to examine in order to suppress or delete anything considered objectionable. Historically, artists railed against being censored -- first amendment violations etc. However, in our postmodern deconstructed age, in my view it becomes possible to celebrate the censor as a measure of creative success.

Recently one of my works ("My Secret Is Revealed") was exhibited in a group show in a business office. The painting came out of working with The Box as idea, concept, subject and material. I layered several boxes -- including a small blue one with 28 symmetrical holes -- to create a mixed media work about what we ingest - from organic cereal to medications. I learned recently that the work had been pulled from the show as an employee at the company found the work objectionable citing my usage of what they supposed was a birth control pill box. (It could be that or it could be menapausal regulator drugs or it could be a blue box with 28 symmetrical holes.)

When I was told that the work had been censored from the show, I was thrilled. I had created art that challenged and upset someone and in our postmodern world, that is a measure of art being successful. In my world, I was less of an artist for not having created something that stirred up another's point of view. My work at times was described as beautiful and -- that cuss in the art world -- decorative. I do strive for work that is visually interesting and sometimes that means it is beautiful but I also strive for work that has an impact on people. How interesting that that is done by the implication of a free, sexualized woman. I hadn't even thought of that one.

My commentary in creating the painting (which includes collaged sections of an organic cereal) was an explorations of the contrary dialogue we have about what is good for us, what we ingest, how we artifcialize our lives and bodies. I think about how dependent we are on prescription drugs, how people don't move, eat and behave the way we have for thousands of years. I think about what that is doing to our world, our planet and each other. Would we be at peace if the country's leadership ate more whole grains? Can all these medications be good for us? If wheat and rice are pounded and reshaped and enriched and labeled 'organic' does that necessarily mean it is good for us? I want the viewers to consider what it is they ingest - visually and digestively - to have the lives they have.

Resolutely I Will Go

The end of the year brings a tradition of ruminations about the year gone past, things done and not done, things said and not said, and dreams yet to be fulfilled. It is a cultural norm that we evaluate ourselves and our lives at this point in the year and make resolutions that we intend the carry out in the new year. There are, of course, endless stories in the media about how unlikely it is for you carry out your new year's resolution. So with the drive to make resolutions comes the inevitable why bother? Why bother if you are going to give it up in a few weeks?

One way to manage this phenomenon is not make resolutions at new year's but at any point in the year. I enjoy doing that because the cultural conversation about how you will stop following through on your resolution is quieter. More of a whisper than a shout as it is on December 29. Last year I started working out regularly about a week after my birthday. To be sure I stuck to the resolution, I enlisted support -- I told my boyfriend and a couple of trusted friends. I told them about the rough day of snowboarding for the first time and that I realized I wanted to be stronger so that I could have bigger life adventures. I think sharing my resolve in this way brought more meaning to it for me and for my friends. I also hired a personal trainer and I asked her to keep me accountable by working with me on goal-setting. I kept a chart that tracked my progress -- what I did when. In the end, I worked out at least 2-3 times a week (sometimes more)for much of the year. I was able to lift twice as much weight and run at twice the pace as when I started.

There is something to be said for the momentum of going along with everyone who is making a change at the new year but real long term success comes with what you choose to do each day. And that you can start any time.

The Reading about Not the Same as the Doing of

I found myself this morning at work early with 45 minutes to spare -- a rarity. Normally I would go direct to the office because "there is much to do." However, today found me getting decaf tea, healthy breakfast and time with Art Calendar magazine (http://www.artcalendar.com/). The time was very enriching and I got a lot of ideas about marketing and pricing my art. Great! I thought. I did something for my art today.

At lunch I read Eric Maisel’s Sunday column about living the creative life (available for free by going to http://www.ericmaisel.com/). In this week’s column, Eric discusses the difference between doing things around/about/near creativity that aren’t actually doing creativity. In his case he was sitting on a park bench outside Keats’ house. In my case, I was sitting in a coffee shop. He was giving his mind space for opening and creativity. I was giving mine a list of things to do that I’m not quite sure how I will get them done. In his case, he found new openings for his writing. In my case, I hadn’t created art today.

It was really interesting to notice that even with that time, I didn't sketch (even though I had my sketchbook with me). I read, but at the time I felt like the reading was okay because I was reading about art. So my learning this week is that the reading about still not the same as the doing of.

I’m off to sketch my desk top!

Thinking about Making Choices at the Getty

As an artist, I make choices all the time – probably in the millions for every single work of art created. Every time the brush hits the canvas I answer the questions: which hue, which tone, which value, which line, which object, which field, which block, which circle? None of it comes immediately – except sometimes. None of it is easy – except sometimes. All of it is the process or rather, The Process of Making Choices. What you view when you go to the gallery or museum is not The Process but The Result – the endgame of all the choices made. The artist has made choices about how she wants us to see the world. It is our obligation as viewer to see and hear what is being communicated. What is the artist’s point of view? What does she want me to know?
I can look at van Gogh’s Irises (http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artObjectDetails?artobj=947) and know I am looking at irises. (Although what I am actually looking at is the juxtaposition of paint of different hue, value, and tone that renders a two-dimensional composition with resemblances of the forms we call irises.) Looking at this painting, I imagine van Gogh sitting in the asylum garden, enraptured with the colors of the blue irises. Hypnotized, he can think of nothing else, he can’t even see anything else. His whole world is Iris. How do I know that? I know that because in the painting Irises the forms—irises—consume the whole canvas. There is no Other: no person, no farmhouse, no wagon. Just irises. He wants me to see, to know the irises. They occur as alive and vital in paint. Of course, the actual irises have been dead for over a hundred years, but here in a brown room in the fantastical Getty Museum, I can see them. Or rather I can see what van Gogh chose for me to see of them.
And I can play with what I see. What led van Gogh to make the choices he made? When I look at actual iris stems back home I don’t see that particular color green. I see a yellow-green. As I think more of it, I realize I look at iris stems in the sunlight of the Eastern coast United States and perhaps the light in France yields pthalo green flower stems.
When I look at irises I don’t see them outlined. So why did he choose that? The painting reveals the outlines as essential to my understanding that each iris is an individual that van Gogh wishes to have seen, noticed, and cherished. So by his having made that choice in painting his irises, what can I as viewer infer? What would he want me to think of these irises? At a time when his sanity and cognition were breaking down, what would he want me to think about making choices? Perhaps that we should see, notice, and cherish each one. Is that too sentimental? Too tidy a bow on a complex painting? Is an iris sometimes just an iris?
No.
And the reason is because van Gogh said so visually. He chose for me to be enraptured, delighted, and celebratory of these flowers all these years in the future. They were his vehicle by which he communicated the value of each small thing on this earth. The painting choices he made reveal to me his view that morally each of us inherently deserves to be seen, noticed, and cherished just by our very presence on earth.

© 2006 Sarah Canadine Bayne www.abundantcreativity.com and www.sarahbayne.com

The Importance of Making Mistakes

I hate making mistakes. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. I was in Paris recently and walking along the Seine back to my hotel to dress for dinner after having walked around the city for the afternoon. The temperature was cool so it was perfect for walking and walking and walking. On my way toward la Place de la Concorde, I passed Boulevard St. Germain (where there are lots of gorgeous shops). I thought "ooo lots of gorgeous shops, I should come back here on my way back." So on my way back, I walked down toward Boulevard St. Germain and turned right to walk toward my hotel near la Tour Eiffel. I soon realized that I had left the shops behind and was heading into the deadly dull government district. I found I was getting madder and madder at myself as I continued to walk. How could I have messed up and missed the shops?! Why do I always do that!? What a numbskull! This is a complete waste of time! When I considered turning around to go back I realized I had gone too far and wouldn't be back to meet my friend for dinner if I did that. So I left the shops behind and continued walking, continued getting mad.
And then I realized I was walking IN PARIS and just getting mad and suddenly it all seemed so ridiculous. So much so I laughed to and at myself. And then I looked up and looked around and took in the sights (even if they were just concrete walls and iron-barred windows). I cut down a side street to see what was there. I explored my way back to my hotel and had a little adventure with it. And later in the week when I was walking back from Musee d'Orsay I walked along Boulevard St. Germain past all the gorgeous shops and enjoyed them before cutting down different side streets for a new adventure on my way back to the hotel.
I learned from this how hard I can be on myself for making mistakes. And I realized that making mistakes is actually what led to me having more adventures, exploring more, extending myself beyond my comfort zone.
And I realized this was true for me in painting as well. This morning I was working on a painting from my Kanji series. There was something missing and a big red block that I didn't like. I got that I had stumbled across a wonderful mistake. The painting was out of balance and the red block wasn't interesting -- it domineered the rest of the painting and had no dialogue with the other shapes. It needed a subtley added to soften it. So I searched through my book of Kanji for another image to add in a softer red to the block. It already had the Kanji for love repeated in two squares. So I thought about love and the red block initially made me think of passion. But then I thought more of it and realized that to truly love someone is not about passion -- that ebbs and flows -- but about courage. Because to love someone is to have the courage to speak up, the courage to stay steady when the storms come, the courage to open up, the courage to trust, the courage to believe it's possible. The courage to look at a mistake and see opportunity, perhaps even a side street for adventure and exploration. And so courage it was. The final painting is called "Love, Love, Courage" as seen here.
© 2006 Sarah Canadine Bayne www.abundantcreativity.com and www.sarahbayne.com

On Father's Day, Honoring My Brother (a Father) and Creator of Knights of the Shroud

Which Knights of the Shroud character are you?
You are Sinead! Subtle, intelligent, mild, and compassionate, your thoughtful and perceptive nature continues to surprise even the most jaded of philosophers. Many people underestimate you, but you are possessed of secret strengths that could overmaster many of the mighty at once. You have a deep respect and love for life, all life, and this sometimes puts you at odds with your more martially minded friends. You know deep in your heart that the world is broken, and you spend yourself freely to repair as much as you can. You do not shy from any challenge, but you have yet to be fully tested. Take this quiz!

Reef Depth and Painting Series-ly

This painting, Reef Depth, is from my first series in abstract acrylics which abstractified coral reefs. I am currently working on multiple series of paintings and regularly rotate through them depending on the day's interests, challenges and inspirations. After spending years floating around watercolors, I moved into acrylics and began working ambi-dextrously. Yes, with both hands. Yes, sometimes at the same time and sometimes not. Other artists who do/did this? Not many on a consistent basis but Leonardo da Vinci is well-known for his ambi-dexterity (good company).
I am currently painting the following series:- Reef, Elemental Compositions (in acrylics now), Carribean Exile, and WAKE UP (politically-charged statements on coffee lids). I know, normally I'm not much of one for conceptual/found art either, but this concept had me in a half-Nelson. Today, I began developing the concept for a political series that will inquire into how life as we knew it is changing. Can I count on Social Security? What is Medicare Part D anyway? Is HIPAA something at the zoo or a bit of complex, cumbersome legislation? Do we really understand all these changes? Are the changes thought through? How do we respond to this changing socio-political landscape? This series will be formed on square canvases and will incorporate collage elements from our day-to-day. And, yes, I live in metro-Washington DC.
To learn more about my paintings, go to http://www.sarahbayne.com/. To learn more about my offerings as a creativity coach, go to http://www.abundantcreativity.com/.

© 2006 Sarah Canadine Bayne www.abundantcreativity.com and www.sarahbayne.com